


You're Just a Daydream Away

by plzdean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel/Dean Winchester One Shot, M/M, One Shot, Secret Crush, stanger cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 14:33:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plzdean/pseuds/plzdean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester visits the same bar every week to escape arguments with Lisa. But recently Dean has been going for a completely different reason; a reason he can hardly admit to himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Just a Daydream Away

**Author's Note:**

> subconsciously inspired by the song ‘Daydream Away’ by All Time Low

Dean wasn’t, by any means, a solitary guy. He liked to be around people; always inviting his brother, Sam, over on weekends when they both were free from work, or going to football games with Chuck and Benny. Sure, he would never really be found at large parties or nightclubs but he was by no means _unsociable_.

 The only time he enjoyed being alone was when he was at the bar after a fight with Lisa. The fights where never usually over anything big; usually just over money or Dean’s drinking habits, or the unusually large collection of vintage porn magazines he insisted on keeping ‘because they are too valuable to throw away’, or whatever excuse he could think up. He liked spending time alone in these times because it gave him time to think and clear his head before he came home. He could think about work at the garage or DIY projects that needed to be pursued or about visiting his parents’ new house now that they’d gone and moved out of town.

 It’s just that Dean had found himself spending more and more time in the bar than he used to; he and Lisa hadn’t managed to go a week without a single fight in nearly six months, and it was starting to bother him. Sometimes he didn’t even bother coming home straight away after work because he knew there would be something for Lisa to moan at him about, and he really couldn’t bothered to deal with that after working on cars for nine hours straight.

 But recently, Dean hadn’t been going to the bar alone _just_ to save himself from arguments. There was another reason he could hardly admit to himself.

 Across the room from his usual spot at the bar, at a booth nearly hidden out of sight, sat two young men. Dean would see them at least twice a week, sat in the same place, drinking the same drinks. The one who usually sat with his back to Dean had long-ish golden-brown hair and always carried a somewhat mischievous smirk on his face, ever speaking with a voice that carried across the room that let Dean pinpoint wherever he was. But he wasn’t the one that had Dean coming back every other day. It was the dark haired man with the shy blue eyes and light stubble, who always sat with a small smile and an airy laugh that Dean could always hear from the other side of the room, even if he was hidden out of sight.

 Dean didn’t know _why_ this particular man fascinated him so much. He had never so much as looked at a man in any way other than a friend, a best friend at most. But with _this_ man…it was different. There was just _something_ about him absolutely _fascinating_. Dean liked to watch him, not in a creepy way, but as if it would somehow teach him about what this man was like.

 So far, from watching him shyly from across the room, Dean could tell that he only smiled occasionally, but when he did it was the most beautiful, genuinely honest thing he’d ever seen. He knew this man liked to drink Stella, but he never finished a bottle because he was always so engrossed in what the man opposite him was saying; every single ounce of his attention focused on his other guy’s words, his eyes not leaving his face for a millisecond. Dean couldn’t tell who this other man was, but he was always there with him. At one point Dean suspected they were a couple, but they never seemed to show any romantic affection or emotion towards each other. He even considered thinking of them as being just friends, but Dean recognised the bond they shared from somewhere else, maybe even a relationship of his own.

 Every night when Dean left the bar, he’d mutter to himself ‘next time, talk to the guy’, but even two months down the line he was still unable to find the courage. It was weird for Dean to be too shy to talk to someone; he’d never had any trouble talking to the occasional girl that happened to be sitting near him at any bar before. He wasn’t even sure he’d ever been nervous about being acknowledged by someone until he saw this man sitting across the room from him. He wanted to be seen by him. He wanted a thought of him to cross this stranger’s mind. He wanted this blue-eyed man, this stranger, to think of Dean as beautiful, just as Dean thought of him.

 Sometimes Dean would get lost in his thoughts.

 He’d imagine their first kiss. It would be clumsy and shy at first, maybe quick misplaced kisses, leading to small nips of his bottom lip, eventually leading to the moment they realise that they’re made for each other. There would be shy fingers tracing the palms of shyer hands. Dean would look right up at this stranger’s face and his breath would hitch in the back of his throat as the distance between them finally closes for good, and their warm breath mixes in his mouth, the feeling being one he knows he’ll never get tired of.

 He’d imagine this stranger lying close to him with their foreheads touching. This way Dean could look into his eyes and memorize the shapes and the different shades of blue, or the way they catch the moonlight seeping in from the curtains so that they sparkle like polished crystal or the clearest sea at night. He would trace this stranger’s face with his index finger, learning the creases and the bones as if it were a map. This way, he’d be sure to never get lost in his eyes again.

 He’d imagine the taste of his kiss or the feeling of their lips against one another’s, their hands and their bodies moving together like clockwork. His skin would be smooth like paper and flawless, like a blank canvas, ready for Dean to leave his mark. He’d imagine their kisses becoming sharp and ragged as their hands became adventurous, their lips becoming sore and swollen with every kiss. As their pace quickens and their body temperature rises along with their heartbeats, they both become more desperate, hungry, wanting, _starving_ for each other.

 He’d imagine what it would be like to miss each other, to not have seen each other for a week or more. He’d think about seeing him walking out of that airport arrivals gate, catching his eye, and running as if his life depended on it so they could be in each other’s arms once again. And he imagined seeing him every second of his life; this beautiful, perfect man being _his_ and no one else’s. Every morning he’d wake up with their faces inches apart, legs tangled, skin sticky from sweat.

 What would it be like to say hello to this face, knowing that they are as pleased to see you as you are to see them? Would saying goodbye be as hard as Dean found it to leave the bar when he could see this beautiful man still sitting there? Would being apart from each other make their heart’s ache and their mind’s constantly wonder to thoughts of one another?

 And sometimes he’d imagine the more intimate times; the times where he’d be fucking this blue-eyed man slow and deep from on top, rocking back and forth slowly and carefully. He’d have this man’s full attention, he’d look up at Dean with delirious eyes, and he’d never look away. Dean’s hands and lips would explore his body, his waist, his thighs, his neck, his back, and Dean would remember all of his soft spots for next time. Then he’d watch as the stranger came over his own stomach, back arched, their fingers linked tightly, inseparably, and Dean would tell him how much he loved him and how beautiful he was like that: naked and vulnerable with Dean’s full trust.

 Sometimes the sex would be hard and fast and passionate. He’d be gripping the stranger’s hair, listening to him pant and beg and scream his name over and over again. This could go on for hours, the blue eyed man on his knees, over the edge of the bed, or fucking himself on Dean. It would be messy. It would _always_ be messy. But it would be raw and real and nothing could ever replicate the feeling of the complete need between the two.

 Imagining sex with Lisa never made Dean's knees weaken the way they did when he imagined it with this stranger.

 What about their wedding? Or moving into their first apartment together in some crappy apartment block in New York City? It would be the start of the rest of their lives together, and they’d be so irrevocably in love with each other that it didn’t matter where they were; it wouldn’t matter if they had it all, or not at all. It wouldn’t matter if they were rich or poor; it wouldn’t even matter if their family didn’t approve of their love. They’d have each other, and that would be all that matters. The feeling of looking up at him, this beautiful man, and feeling that funny feeling in his stomach, just like the way he’d imagine it to feel the first time this stranger said his name, and they were, finally, no longer strangers.

 Dean wanted nothing more than to be able to love this man - this man sitting across the room from him, sitting in the same place every week - but he didn’t even know the stranger’s name.

 There was just _something_ about him that let Dean know that they could be in love if they wanted to be. There was something about him…as if he was waiting for Dean to make the first move all this time. Maybe this stranger _had_ noticed Dean. Maybe he’d seen Dean while he was caught off guard talking to a girl or ordering another drink. Maybe this man thought Dean was the most beautiful guy in the room. Maybe this stranger had imagined what his life would be like if they were together, just as Dean had. Could the reason this stranger always came back to the bar every week on the same two days be because he wanted to see Dean?

 He asked his brother, Sam, if he thought it was possible to fall in love with someone even though you’ve never actually met. Sam said it might be; people fall in love with celebrities from the television all the time; he said that he believed in love at first sight, and that that starts by falling in love with someone without having even spoken to them. He then asked why Dean had asked the question and Dean said he didn’t know why.

 Dean decided that what he felt for this dark haired, blue-eyed man must’ve been love at first sight. Perhaps it was written in the stars or something stupid and clichéd like that. Every time he said it to himself in that way he could almost make himself laugh: the thought of Dean Winchester destined to fall in love with a man he’d never even spoken to before was one that seemed to humour him for some reason. Dean Winchester _loves_ , but he _never falls in love_ , right? That’s how it’s always been. That’s how it’s been with Lisa and just about every girl other he’s ever dated.

 Sometimes Dean would sit there, watching this beautiful stranger, and doubt the authenticity of his love for Lisa. If he really did love Lisa, how could he ever let himself love this man more?

 It _was_ true. He somehow loved this stranger more than he loved Lisa – the woman he’d been with four over four years; the woman he’d been too afraid to ask for her hand in marriage because he was scared of the prospects of being tied to this one woman for the rest of his life with a kid that wasn’t even his own. Maybe he always knew that she wasn’t the one; he always knew, deep down, that maybe there was someone else out there for him that he could love wholly and fully for the rest of his life with every inch of his being.

 ***

 Dean was caught completely off guard when it happened.

 He was in the middle of talking to some girl about nothing important, when he looked up and saw the blue-eyed stranger standing all on his own by the booth he usually sat in. Dean had been watching him all evening, and it appeared the other man, the one he was usually with, had headed off to the restroom before they were about to leave.

 “It was nice talking to you,” Dean quickly said to the girl, “but I’ve really gotta go.”

 He stood up, took a deep breath and began to walk.

As he walked around the tables towards the stranger, (nearly walking into three people and two tables), his hands began to grow sweaty and his head began to spin. This was it. He was finally going to talk to the beautiful blue-eyed man, and he was more nervous than he could ever remember being before. As he neared closer to the man, he rehearsed what he was going to say over and over in his head, praying to whatever god would listen that he wouldn’t fuck it up.

 Finally Dean was standing a metre away from the beautiful man, and he coughed quickly to get his attention.

The stranger looked over at Dean and smiled uncertainly. “Uh, can I help you?”

Dean was almost too overwhelmed by the sound of his perfect voice being directed right at him.

“Yeah, uh, hello,” Dean said awkwardly, “my name’s Dean.”

“Uh…nice to meet you, Dean. I’m Castiel.”

Dean felt his heart jump a little bit at the sound of his name spoken by his perfect voice. “Well, uh, _Castiel_ …” Dean said, looking down at his feet nervously, “can I, maybe, buy you a drink before you leave?”

Dean saw the other man, the one he usually sat with during these two days a week, approaching them from the direction of the restrooms.

Castiel looked back at the man approaching them and turned back to Dean. “That’s a nice offer, Dean, but I really need to pick my daughter up from ballet right about now.” Castiel said as he shrugged into his trench coat. “She goes to the ballet school across the road twice a week with my brother, Gabriel’s, daughter, perhaps you’ve heard of it? We usually wait in here until it finishes. Maybe you can join us next week?”

“The more the merrier.” The other man, Gabriel, added.

 Dean could hardly look up at him. He felt so goddamn stupid, standing there like a little kid being rejected asking the girl he likes to prom.

 “Oh.” Was all he could choke out. “I better…I better pick Ben up from soccer practice, then.” Dean lied.

“See you around, then, buddy.” Gabriel smiled, nudging Dean’s arm gently as the two of them made their way towards the door. From the corner of his eyes, Dean watched as Castiel opened the door for Gabriel and looked back at Dean for a long second before walking out too.

 Dean stayed standing there looking down at the floor with a heavy feeling in his chest. He felt _betrayed_. Not by Castiel The Blue Eyed Stranger, but by himself. He felt betrayed by himself for falling in love with a guy who he really did know nothing about after all.

Dean never returned to the bar after that.

 


End file.
